The Gifts of Our Fathers — By Marita Krivda Poxon

Growing up one of seven children in an old Victorian manse in Oak Lane Philadelphia, I had four older brothers who grounded my life. I looked up to them as just seeming to know everything. But my oldest brother was the cat’s meow.

Our father, Adolph Krivda, born in Budapest in 1898 sure thought he was the head of his own small army. In reality it was his oldest son, my brother Joe Krivda, whose charm, brilliance and leadership inspired his siblings to do great things. Myself in particular. I had a real father. But lucky me I had a second father, my oldest brother Joe who shaped the growth of my mind and spirit.

Dr. Joe Krivda and Marita Krivda Poxon, September 1985, Stone Harbor, NJ

As a child I thought my brother Joe could scale mountains. In his own life he did. He excelled in school graduating from Northeast Catholic High School at the very top and sailing through La Salle College as a pre-med major. At LaSalle, he graduated Phi Beta Kappa and was class valedictorian.

He got his M.D. degree from the University of Pennsylvania’s School of Medicine, having been selected personally by the school’s dean. I remember as if it were yesterday getting all dressed up and attending his medical school graduation at the Academy of Music in 1958

Joe Krivda loved music and installed our family’s first HiFi. He played his collection of classical records and Broadway show records. He played the bass fiddle for Northeast Catholic’s marching band. He taught himself to play the accordion. I vividly remember listening to his chosen favorites which included “My Fair Lady,” “The Music Man” and “South Pacific.”

Joe Krivda had his nose in a book a lot and encouraged me to read all kinds of books. After his marriage to Liz Porter, his own family of four kids lived in wonderful places including Worcester, Massachusetts, Ridgefield, Connecticut and New Paltz, New York. He took up bicycle riding organizing excursions for his family to wonderful places. I often accompanied them riding my own bicycle through beautiful landscapes.

On this Father’s Day, I salute my real father and my spiritual father who are both gone now. They shaped my life and oh how I miss them both!